Future Tense
by Eponymous Rose
Summary: The future is a convenient place for dreams. Five things Cassandra Fraiser wanted to be when she grew up.


I.

It's her first night at home and Cassandra can't sleep. "Home," she whispers to the wall, and feels immediately guilty.

Oh, the bed feels pretty good compared to the ones on base – Janet laughs when she asks where the beeping machines are, when the alarms will start going off – but it's still not quite right, not like the other place, the place she was before. But she doesn't like thinking about the other place, because sometimes her mind does things she's pretty sure it's not supposed to do, like putting the wrong faces on the bodies, like Sam's face, or Janet's, or Jack's.

At least the other place had a bed that felt right.

She closes her eyes and imagines she's being swallowed up by wrongness, like it's the little bomb that was inside her, waiting to snuff her out completely.

After a while, there's a click, and a lot of light filters through the tunnels she's made of the blankets, so she comes up for air. Janet's standing in the doorway, still in her day-clothes, looking strange and a little lost, her hair not quite smoothed down.

"Sorry, I-" Janet says, and seems to shake herself, and Cassandra thinks that maybe there was another click, one that turned her from Janet into Dr. Fraiser. "I heard you crying, Cassie. Are you all right? Did you have a nightmare?"

Cassandra hugs a pillow, and mutters, "I miss Sam," but that's not it at all, and she can't figure out why she said it, because Sam's just another part of the wrongness.

"Oh, honey," says Janet, and pauses for a second before coming to sit down beside her. The bed creaks just like her bed in the other place, and Cassandra moves away from the extra warmth, as far as she can. "Sam's coming over tomorrow. Jack and Daniel and Teal'c, too. They're planning a party for you, Cassie."

Cassandra's pretty sure that's just an invitation, a way to get her to ask questions about Earth parties so she doesn't think about other things. She shrugs, pulls her knees up to her chest, and thinks about the other things anyway, thinks about the creak of mattress springs and the smell of breakfast and the smile on a face that's getting blurred around the edges, a face she's starting to replace with someone else's.

"It's important to cry," Janet says, softly, and Cassandra's a bit surprised that she hasn't moved any closer, that she's just keeping her distance, sitting on the other side of the bed. She doesn't know whether to feel better or worse about that. "It's part of healing."

"I don't want to heal," Cassandra says, and the words come out angry. She stares at her knees, because maybe if she forgets Janet's face for a while, she'll remember the other one better. "This is wrong."

"Cassie-"

"This isn't where I sleep." Cassandra picks up the pillow, lets it drop. "This isn't home."

Janet makes a little sound, and Cassandra looks up to see tears in her eyes, which isn't right either, because Sam only cried when they were trying to be brave, when they thought they were dying. Before she knows what she's doing, Cassandra's burrowed closer to Janet, clinging to her, crying into her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she says, softly, and feels Janet's arms come up, pull her into a hug. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. We're going to be okay. I didn't-"

"It's okay, Cassie," Janet says, and laughs a little tearfully. "I'm new at this, too."

Neither of them gets much sleep that night – they sit side-by-side on the bed, and Janet tells stories about Sam and Jack and Daniel and Teal'c that make Cassandra giggle, stories about the time when people decided Daniel was the epitome of human evolution and made him lead a parade in his own honor, and the time when Sam accidentally outsmarted the village elder and nearly got the job herself, and the time when Teal'c came back through the Gate wearing a purple hat with bright blue spots because it was the only disguise to hand, and the time when Jack was slipped a drug that would only let him speak in rhymed couplets.

And then, after they've been quiet for a while, laughter echoing away, Cassandra starts to tell Janet stories about the other place, about her mother and father and the things they dreamed for her, about the stories they told her, about the future they wanted for her.

"You can do anything you like, Cassie," Janet says, and she says it firmly, like she'll personally have strong words for anyone who tries to stop that from happening. Cassandra pictures Janet glaring into the future, hands on her hips, and can't imagine that anything could possibly get in her way.

But she's not sure how to say that, how to make it sound real, so she just presses closer. "Did you always want to be a doctor?"

"Sure," says Janet, and coughs. "Well, maybe not. There was a while there when I wanted to be a dinosaur."

Cassandra remembers back to one of the books Sam gave her, full of strange creatures with long necks and sharp teeth and massive, three-horned heads. "What kind?"

Janet looks at her, startled, and then they're both laughing again. "That's not the question people usually ask," she says, and she says it like not asking the expected question, like being something a little different, is wonderful. "How about you, Cassie? What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Alive," Cassandra says, without thinking, and then Janet's gone quiet again, pulled her into a tighter hug, and the darkened world outside the window seems like it's a long, long way from home.

Much later, when Janet finally admits that she has to be up in two hours to go to work, when Cassandra settles back beneath the covers, when she looks up at the ceiling, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she decides that maybe it's not wrongness she's been feeling after all.

"It's not wrong," she whispers to the wall. "It's different. It's new."

And somewhere in her head, there are two faces, side-by-side, and she'll remember them both for as long as she can.

* * *

II.

Some days, when Janet comes home, she's full of energy, telling stories about work that Cassie's starting to realize are a bit oblique, a little tangential – she suspects that the more complete versions would be a lot less G-rated. Some days, when Janet comes home, she'll ask Cassie about school, grill her about the friends she's making and the classes she's taking and how she likes junior high, and Cassie will obediently spout off a lightly censored version of her own, because hey, her mom doesn't need to know she's hanging out with the eighth graders who smoke behind the supply shed.

Some days, when Janet comes home, she doesn't say anything at all.

When the door closes downstairs, Cassie pauses her Discman and stashes it under the bed, leans over her none-too-finished book report, and waits for a few seconds. No sound from downstairs. Bad day, then.

A gentle rap at the door, which is weird in and of itself, since Janet's the type to just stroll right in if something's on her mind.

"Yeah," says Cassie, feeling weirdly self-conscious. "Come in, Mom."

She pushes the door open, looking a bit like she's been running on automatic, but the smile's genuine enough. "Hey, Cass. How's the book report coming?"

"Fine," says Cassie, before realizing that the way she's snatched up the paper and held it out of reach is probably a bit telling. "Uh. I'm working on it now."

"Okay," says Janet, absently, which is about a hundred different kinds of wrong. _Ping_, thinks Cassie, and pictures warning alarms going off in her head. Like with Sam, that time, only it's maybe a little less ominous, because it's not naquadah setting her off this time, just common sense. No Goa'ulds here, just your garden-variety crappy day.

Cassie drops the report on her bed, notices that Janet's still got her coat on. "Hey, I could make us some hot chocolate or something."

"That'd be nice," Janet says, and she acts normal enough while they go down to the kitchen to start the water boiling, but when Cassie brushes past her to grab the chocolate powder, she pulls Cassie into a quick hug, the kind that says _I'm not letting you go_. Cassie waits, stamping down the urge to fidget, until Janet releases her.

She moves to the fridge, and glances back – Janet's staring at the steam rising from the kettle like it's the only real thing in the room. "You want cream, Mom?"

That sparks a smile. "That horrible edible oil stuff? You're kidding me."

"Your loss," says Cassie, shaking up a can. After a moment, she shrugs and pours a healthy dollop into both mugs. "Whoops," she says, insincerely, and hands the cup over.

"Thanks," says Janet, rolling her eyes, and they're quiet for a while, just sipping the too-hot drinks to kill time.

"So," says Cassie, and isn't sure where to go from there – everything she can think of saying sounds too much like the sort of thing Janet would say, and it'd just be weird to start talking to Janet like a grown-up would.

"I'm sorry, Cass," Janet says. "It's just been-"

"-a bad day. Yeah. I guessed as much." And Cassie tries to keep up the cool-and-collected appearance, but something's been niggling at her, and when she speaks, her voice sounds like it belongs to some little kid. "Did something happen to Sam?"

Janet looks up, maybe catching the unspoken 'again', and there's a sad little smile that gives her away. "No," she says. "Sam just got a bit of a bump on the head rolling through the Gate. She's fine. Teal'c made it out without a scratch, or so he says, because he hasn't let me get near enough to take a look at him yet. But Colonel O'Neill took a machete to the shoulder, and it was a bit rough there, for a while."

A bit rough. Right. G-rated version.

"A machete? Ouch." Cassie plunks down in a chair, hoping Janet will take it as an invitation, but her mom stays leaning against the kitchen cupboard, looking weirdly fragile, and the penny drops. "Wait. How about Daniel?"

Janet takes a deep breath, like she's steeling herself against something. "Daniel's missing," she says. "From what Sam's told me, he was in another part of the village when they were attacked. General Hammond's holding off on sending a search team until they can make a proper threat assessment."

"Shit," says Cassie, and for a second Janet looks torn between wanting to scold her for her language and wanting to join her in some creative profanity. "Can I come to the mountain? Just to visit. I promise I'll finish the report when I get home."

Janet takes a long sip of her hot chocolate, then winces. "Cass, I don't-"

"Mom, please. You know how much I helped Sam with the Jolinar thing. Maybe they just need someone to talk to for a bit." Sometimes Sam jokes that Cassie and Janet have a whole psychic connection thing going on, with all the unspoken cues they manage to send each other. Now Cassie focuses with everything she has on projecting _I have to go_ and _don't make me just wait here_ and _please, Mom_.

And maybe Janet's getting a little sick of just waiting around herself, because she says, "Grab your coat. It's cold out there."

* * *

The base infirmary's never a particularly cheerful place, but it looks downright gloomy when they walk in. The first thing Cassie notices, apart from the worrying number of bloody towels in the bin next to the door, is that Teal'c's lying on the nearest cot with a long-suffering air, a bandage wrapped around his shoulder.

Janet steps past her, business-like. "Teal'c, what happened?"

"I was perhaps too hasty in my assessment of my own good health," Teal'c says.

Sam, curled in the chair next to him with an icepack pressed against her head, grins wanly. "He fell down in the hallway. I dragged him back here and forced him to let someone take a look at him," she translates.

"My symbiote is already healing the damage," Teal'c says. Cassie's still getting used to his subtle variations in expression, but even she can recognize 'seriously miffed' when she sees it. "It is of no concern."

"Oh, you know us doctors, Teal'c," Janet says, checking the bandages with a practiced hand, though Cassie notices that she's pursing her lips in the way that means she's hiding a smile. "We've just got to run around and put bandages on anything that's not tied down. Nothing personal."

"Is that Cassie?" Sam uncoils herself from the chair.

"Hi Sam," says Cassie, trying for cool-and-collected again, but it all falls apart when Sam pulls her into a hug, because there's that same desperation, the never-letting-go that makes her think of underground bases and bombs that never went off. "I heard about Daniel," she whispers. "He'll be okay, Sam."

Sam pulls back; Cassie notices the dark shadows under her eyes, the livid bruise starting to show up on her forehead. "Yeah," she says, obviously aiming for lightness and falling a little short of the mark. "If anyone's got experience with being stranded on an alien planet, it's Daniel."

"Hey, doesn't the star patient get any attention?" Sam turns around, a bit too quickly, like she's still on-edge, and Cassie follows her gaze. Jack's sprawled on one of the cots further along the wall, but he's got such a carefully casual expression going that, if it weren't for the assorted tubes and monitors, he'd look like he was just hanging out, watching a hockey game or something. "For a while there, it was all well-wishes and sponge baths, IVs changed to order. I'm starting to feel like my fifteen minutes are up."

"Hey Jack," says Cassie. "You look awful." It's true; as she gets closer, she realizes he's pale enough that his lips don't have any color to them, and she imagines he wouldn't make it halfway across the room if he ever got it in his head to try and leave.

"Thanks, Cassie. Still as charming as ever, I see," he says, but it's a bit like he's trying too hard, because there's a tenseness behind his eyes. Cassie glances back to Sam and Teal'c, wearing identically guarded expressions, and she wonders for the first time just how close Jack actually came to bleeding to death, just what kind of situation Daniel's been stuck in all this time. All of a sudden, Cassie's not really sure how to deal with this, not really sure why she came here in the first place, what kind of comfort she can possibly offer - Sorry your teammate's gone missing and someone made a pretty good attempt at hacking your arm off. So how's life been treating you otherwise?

Janet comes up beside her, and Cassie's grateful for the interruption. "Colonel, let's see you make a fist."

He flexes his hand easily enough, but Cassie notices the catch in his breathing and the way his other hand twitches toward his bandaged shoulder. When Janet nods and goes back to scribbling on her clipboard, he cranes his neck – Cassie doesn't point out that Janet's handwriting is so illegible that being able to see the file probably wouldn't do him much good, anyway. "So what do you say, Doc? There still time to pursue my dream of being a concert pianist?"

"Probably not, but your hand won't be what's stopping you there," Janet says, with a smirk, and moves over to scrutinize the monitors. "You're lucky, Colonel – looks like you'll walk away from this with minimal permanent damage, if any. Your BP's still a bit lower than I'd like, though. You've gone through two units of blood already, and if things don't start improving, Warner and I may have to go in there again. It's possible we missed a bleeder the first time."

"Nah," says Jack. "You never miss anything. Just point me in the direction of a triple bacon cheeseburger and my blood pressure'll be back to normal in no time." He waggles his eyebrows at Cassie. "On the other hand, the life of a vampire would be cool."

"Crappy hours," Cassie says, without missing a beat. "They'll put you on the graveyard shift."

"Right," says Jack. "Cheeseburger it is." He raises a hand to snap his fingers, flinches, bites off a word that Cassie's pretty sure her mom doesn't think she even _knows_, and clears his throat. "Or if you've got some more of that jello, that'd be good too."

Janet rolls her eyes. "I'm starting to think we keep it in stock just for you. One more, and then I'm officially cutting you off."

"Sweet."

Cassie stands to follow her mom, but Janet surprises her by pulling the privacy curtain between Jack's bed and the rest of the infirmary. "Stay with him," she says, softly, and just like that, she's marching off with Sam in tow.

"Um," says Cassie, and sits down in the chair by Jack's bed. "Guess I'm staying for a while."

"Mi hospital room es su hospital room," Jack says, with a passable approximation of a shrug.

They're quiet for a while, and Cassie's pretty sure Janet could've grabbed the jello and returned twice by now. Jack's just staring at the ceiling, way too quiet and still. "Daniel's going to be all right," she says, after the silence starts dragging, but it seemed so certain when she said it to Sam, and now it seems wavery, like she's trying to convince herself.

"Yeah," says Jack, and his voice has exactly the same tone to it. "Sure he is."

"Are you-" says Cassie, then swallows. "Does it hurt?"

"Twinges a little," Jack says, and clears his throat. "Doc Fraiser's given me the good stuff, though, so I'm not feeling much of anything right now."

Must be nice, she thinks, and feels a bit guilty for thinking it.

Jack starts fidgeting with the IV in his arm, then seems to think better of it and goes back to lying still. "How's the dog? What'd you call him again?"

Cassie flushes a bit. "Jack. His name's Jack. And don't even start on that again. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Jack grins. "Hey, it's a great name for a dog."

Straightening in her chair, Cassie leans forward with a smirk. "Of course, when he's being a pain in the behind, Mom sometimes calls him Colonel."

There's a pause, in which she does her best to emulate Teal'c's impassively raised eyebrow, and then Jack bursts out laughing. "I'll just bet she does," he says, and adds: "Ow. Ow ow ow. No more jokes. My shoulder's got no sense of humor."

Cassie stands up. "I can get Mom if-"

"Stop worrying so much, Cass," Jack says, with an irritated huff. "I'm fine. Though it looks like Doc's taking the long way to Jello-land."

"I was just thinking that," says Cassie, but she can't quite bring herself to sit down, so she just stands by Jack's bedside as another thoroughly awkward silence imposes itself.

Jack clears his throat. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, Cass, but why exactly are you here?"

"I'm avoiding working on a book report," Cassie says. "_The Little Prince_. This seemed like the best way to get out of the house."

"Uh-huh," says Jack. "Well, I can think of a couple more places I'd rather be than here, but hey, the company's not half bad."

Cassie grins, and finally sinks back into the chair. "Yeah. I meant what I said, though."

"About what?"

"About Daniel being okay." She takes a deep breath. "I mean it. You're a team. You're always holding each other together. That's how it works."

He smiles a bit, does the awkward little half-shrug, but she knows he's just putting on an act for her benefit, because his words are edged with a note of sarcasm. "Yeah, Cass. He'll be fine."

And she feels like she's just been given a pat on the head and dismissed out of hand, which is strange, because Jack's usually the last one to treat her like a little kid, and it surprises her how much it hurts that he's doing it now. "Okay, look," she says, and hates the way her voice shakes, and the way she can't look at him. "I know it- I know things look bad, but they're not always going to. If I had friends as close as you guys are, I'd never worry about anything, because I'd know there would always be someone watching out for me. You rescued me when everyone I knew was dead. You can do anything. And if you're just going to feel sorry for yourself and not even try-" She swipes at her cheek, finds tears there, and starts to get up. "This is stupid. I'll-"

"Hey. Hey, Cassie," he says, and she can't quite look over at him, but she sits back down. "It's okay. I'm sorry." And she does look over, this time, and he looks a bit startled, almost stricken. "I know you're just here to help."

"Some help," she says, and swipes at her nose with her sleeve. "I come here and yell at you when you're hurt."

He snorts. "Yeah, and if that were a problem, Doc Fraiser'd be out of business. And you know what, Cass? You're right. I really needed that."

She waits until she's pretty sure she's got control of her voice again, until it's not so wobbly, until she feels a bit less like a kid and a bit more like an adult. "Anytime," she says.

And, with the sort of impeccable timing that Cassie suspects has more to do with listening at closed curtains than instinct, Janet breezes in with a tray full of jello cups. When Jack's eyes light up, she grins. "Don't get your hopes up, Colonel, they're not all for you. Sam, can you help Teal'c get over here?"

"I am perfectly capable of-" There's an ominous thud, and Cassie cranes her neck past the curtain to see Teal'c gripping the bedside table while Sam tries very hard not to laugh. "Perhaps not perfectly."

"Perhaps not," Sam says, and offers him her arm.

They stay there most of the night, gathered around Jack's bed, eating crappy infirmary jello and talking about nothing in particular. Cassie tells them about the career day that's coming up at school, when all the kids are supposed to visit their parents at work, and how her teacher quietly agreed to waive the report part of the assignment.

"Of course, I had to actually come in and talk to them to corroborate Cassie's story," Janet says, grinning.

Cassie leans forward in her chair, swiping a spoonful of Sam's blue jello. "You should've seen Mrs. Williams's face when Mom told her she didn't have the security clearance necessary to assign me that homework. Speaking of which, Mom, there's that book report-"

"Don't get your hopes up, Cass," Janet says. "I only use my powers for good, not evil."

"Yeah, right," says Jack, then pauses. "Did I say that out loud?"

"This 'Career Day' seems like an admirable tradition," Teal'c says, and steals a spoonful of Sam's jello for himself.

"Hey!" Sam clutches the jello closer. "Just because you guys wolfed yours all down doesn't give you the right to poach mine. I'm savoring it."

"If you are caught unawares, you will be deprived," Teal'c says.

"Ow," says Jack. "Ow. No more jokes. And it's 'You snooze, you lose', Teal'c."

"Indeed," says Teal'c, and steals another spoonful from the now-distracted Sam, who sighs and hands him the rest of the cup. "This day would appear to be an ideal chance to explore possible careers, Cassandra Fraiser. It is unfortunate that young Jaffa do not have such an opportunity."

"Hey, right," says Sam. "You thinking about your future already, Cassie? What you want to do with your life?"

Cassie knows it's meant as a simple question, but she can't help feeling like there's something deeper in it. _We saved your life. Now what are you going to do with it?_

"I don't really know," she says, and catches Janet glancing at her.

"Yeah, don't worry about that yet," says Jack. "When I was your age, I wanted to ride a motorcycle for a living. Figured if I looked cool enough, someone would have to pay me to do it."

"That seems like an unusual means of gaining currency," Teal'c says.

Sam smirks. "Says the man who walks through wormholes to other planets for a living."

"A doctor," Cassie blurts, suddenly. They all turn to her, and she blushes and very carefully doesn't meet Jack's eyes. "I mean, I think I'd like to be a doctor, maybe. Help people, you know?"

Janet wraps an arm around her shoulders. "That's a good plan, Cass," she says. "But the first step would be-"

"I know, I know," says Cassie, with a theatrical groan. "I'll finish the book report already."

And as they're getting ready to leave, just as Cassie's putting on her coat, Jack beckons. "Cass? That book you're reading-"

"_The Little Prince_," Cassie says. "You know it?"

Jack smirks. "Don't get that greedy little glint in your eyes. No way you want me helping you with your homework, anyway. No, I just remember reading that one once. There was something about children... explaining or something."

It takes Cassie a second, but when she gets it, she smiles. "'Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiring for children to be always and forever explaining things to them'."

"That's the one," he says. "Thanks, Cass."

"You'll get Daniel back," she says, and means it.

* * *

They do get him back, two days later, and discover that he's managed to sweet-talk his way back into the High Elders' good books in the meantime. When Janet comes home, she tells Cassie all about the banquet in Daniel's honor, about how he'd gradually managed to open discussions and begin working towards creating an exchange of ideas and culture, until he'd won enough of the Elders' trust that they'd let him return home.

Cassie walks to school that day feeling about a thousand feet off the ground, like she's floating, like she's flying. _He'll be all right,_ she'd said, and _You'll find him,_ she'd said, and that's exactly what had happened. And sure, the book report doesn't go quite as well as it could have, but she sneaks a peek at one of Janet's old medical textbooks, starts memorizing the bones of the hand and the names of the organs, daydreams herself into operating rooms where she saves lives every single day.

As the days stretch into weeks and months and years, Cassie's studies get more serious; her mom stops treating the obsession with medicine and anatomy and biology as a phase and starts getting her access to the top scientific journals online. Cassie doesn't understand more than a handful of the technical terms, but what she can figure out intrigues her, and she dreams about whole worlds of complexity and wonder hidden beneath such thin skin.

Everything changes when, one day, Daniel's exposed to a deadly dose of radiation and dies, slowly and painfully, as his body tears itself apart.

That day, Janet doesn't come home at all, nor the next, and when she finally does step through the door, she cries and hugs Cassie and doesn't answer the phone and slowly, slowly, puts the broken pieces back together.

Cassie locks herself in her room and tears the old medical textbook to shreds, page by page

* * *

III.

When he comes back, Daniel stops telling Cassie stories.

She tells herself she's too old for that kind of thing, anyway – whoever heard of a high school senior at storytime? – and it's no big deal since she can get the scuttlebutt from Sam and Jack and, yeah, even the odd anecdote from Teal'c (with the emphasis on "odd"). But she can't quite stamp down the stupid, childish surge of disappointment every time SG-1 goes through another mission and she hasn't heard all the pointless digressions about culture and language and the changing definition of community, the running jokes and the goofy little details that make her feel a bit like she's right there, right beside them, the whole time.

In these weeks since Daniel's – what? Returned? Descended? – it seems like he's lost his words, like he's had to relearn a totally new language from scratch, the language of Earth and his friends and his life, and there's no room in there for the old stories.

And then, one day, he starts bringing her souvenirs.

Ordinary things at first, the kind of objects that would be totally boring if not for history, the sheer weight of time giving a plain wooden bowl meaning and purpose – this bowl fed someone who lived on another planet, who lived as though he were a member of an ancient civilisation stretching out in space as well as time, a real, living part of Earth's history. Of course, this same bowl also fed a certain archeologist from Earth who reached that particular civilisation via a piece of alien technology, which is a bit of a mindfuck, but she figures maybe that's part of the appeal. She keeps the bowl on her bedside table, and later she puts the steel goblet beside it, and the spoon made of some unknown metal that keeps clinging to all her spare change, and eventually her mom jokes that she'll have enough dishes for her own place by the time she moves out.

Sometimes, a bit later, Daniel brings her more exciting keepsakes, looking shifty and a bit nervous as he smuggles a broadsword from P3K-204 into the living room, or a little crystal ball from P9X-383 that glows and flickers and may or may not actually tell the future. Cassie can't put those on display – she gets the idea that maybe Daniel's acting out some kind of latent bad-boy tendencies, because she's not entirely sure he's been cleared to take those particular artifacts off-base in the first place – but she does pull them out from their various hiding places, sometimes, just to look at them. Her mom claims she doesn't approve, but they've spent a few late nights already just talking about the weird and wonderful objects, and Cassie figures maybe her mom's a bit cooler than she ever gave her credit for.

The presents keep coming, and once, when she's home alone and Daniel shows up to drop off a tiny scale model of SG-1 that someone on P2K-299 carved, he actually sticks around, just sinks into his usual chair like he always did, and Cassie feels a wave of nostalgia, because he starts talking and, in a weird sort of way, it's like he never left.

"So," he says. "How's life?"

It's stupid, but she's always felt like she can talk to him about anything, and when she opens her mouth to make an appropriately vague answer, an honest one comes out instead. She talks about how things at home have been really weird lately – how she's going to be heading off to Boulder, to Colorado State, to study astrophysics at the end of the year, and how she thinks maybe her mom's not quite ready for that yet. She talks about how they've already had more than their usual number of blow-ups – about Cassie sharing an apartment with Dominic, about not coming home over the summer, about walking away from half of those arguments deciding that she's not going to bother with college at all, that she's just going to get as far away as she can and start making her own life for once. Hell, some days she's not sure she even likes astrophysics, but she's really good at it, and Sam's been talking to her about all the career opportunities it'll open up in this strange new world nobody else seems to be aware they're living in.

Daniel just listens, which is a bit unnerving – she's used to him cutting in with his own interjections, putting new spins on the issues, and she's always figured that's just part of how he learns, like it's one big interactive process. Eventually she gets that he's just waiting for her to run out of steam, and she stops talking, a bit abruptly. They sit in silence for a while.

"Feel better?"

If that had come from Jack, she'd have been sorely tempted to throw something at him, but from Daniel, it's just honest, without a hint of smugness. She shrugs. "Yeah. Sorry to dump that on you."

There's a hint of a wry smile that she definitely recognizes. "People have been doing that a lot, lately. I guess they think they have to get me up to speed again." He leans back in the chair with a long-suffering expression. "I swear Jack's been trying to convince me he actually won every single argument we ever had."

Cassie laughs in spite of herself. "That's horrible!"

"I didn't have the heart to let him know my memory's been coming back a lot faster than he thinks." Daniel clears his throat, pulls off his glasses and makes a half-hearted attempt at cleaning them on his shirt. "In fact, I'm pretty sure it's all come back, though I guess there's not really any way to actually tell for sure, because for all I know there's some really important birthday party I went to when I was four or something-" He holds the glasses up to the light, and he's so abruptly someone else, someone strange, that she finds herself holding her breath. "People are walking on eggshells around me, Cass, like they're waiting for me to turn back into someone I'm not sure I ever was. I've changed, and what other people think I'm supposed to be shouldn't be what matters. What should really matter is what I want to do, who I want to be, from now on."

They're quiet for a while, again, and Cassie feels a slow smile spreading across her face. Daniel looks almost preternaturally calm and stoic and serious, and he spoils the effect by raising an eyebrow in a devastating imitation of Teal'c.

"Yeah, that was subtle," she says.

"I thought so." Daniel's expression breaks completely into a smile. "I've been told this Daniel Jackson fellow used to be pretty good at metaphor. But think about it, Cass. You've got a lot of pressure on you from all sides – I mean, all kids do at some point, but you've got this whole weird extended family looking out for you. And hey, you've practically got the Air Force knocking on your door. Just-" He waves a hand. "-do what makes you happy. Take risks. Find out what works and what doesn't. I bet your mom will be thrilled with whatever you pick."

"Yeah, yeah," Cassie says. "But you've got history and language and culture – you've always had that – and Sam has astrophysics and the military, and Mom's pretty much always wanted to be a doctor. I don't have anything like that."

Daniel picks up the little carving of SG-1 he brought with him, turning it over and over in his hands. "I don't think that's how this works," he says, and looks up. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" She rolls her eyes, and he holds up a hand before she can answer. "I know, I know, everyone asks that. But really think about it. See yourself ten years down the line, Cass. Picture it."

And it's silly, but she actually closes her eyes and thinks, _Maybe this isn't so far from storytelling, after all,_ because there are worlds behind her eyelids, worlds and places and moments she can almost touch. It's like quantum physics, like she knows all about herself but not where she's going, because even closing her eyes like this, even thinking about it, is changing all her possible futures.

Daniel's smiling when she opens her eyes, and she's laughing. "Different," she says. "I want to be different. I want to be happy."

"Then I think that's a good start," he says, and hands her the carving. "Just hang onto the past, but don't let it hold you back, okay, Cass? You're good at that."

She squints at the detail, the intricacy of the markings on the clothing and the perfect contours of every face, traces them with her fingers. "You too," she says.

When her mom comes home, they're both sprawled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching some awful sci-fi movie that Teal'c's apparently been raving about all week, making their own running commentary. Janet kicks off her shoes and joins them, tearing apart the movie's obvious lack of medical research until Daniel threatens to get Wormhole X-Treme back on the air and volunteer her as the technical advisor.

"You do that and your next checkup's going to be a lot more unpleasant," she says, sweetly, and bounces a piece of popcorn off his nose.

Two months later, that moment – seeing her mom's impish smile, cheering at her perfect aim, feeling that goofy warm glow that comes from sharing a joke with family – will be one of a handful that Cassie holds close, that she swears to herself she'll never forget.

Two months later, Dr. Janet Fraiser will be killed in the line of duty.

* * *

IV.

Cassie figures it was only a matter of time before someone drew the short straw, but she's a bit startled when the knock at the door is strong and even, when the voice that filters through is deep, almost booming. "Cassandra Fraiser?"

She's never really understood why Teal'c always insists on using people's names like that, like the first name and last name should be squished together. He's been so immersed in Earth culture lately that it's even more inexplicable. Hell, maybe it's become a kind of pet name.

But all she can hear now is the _Fraiser_, a stark reminder, and there are echoes of General Hammond's voice when he showed up in person at her door and she couldn't find anything to hang onto because his words were sweeping her away, _I'm afraid that Dr. Fraiser has-_, and of Jack, when he tried to talk her into coming to the memorial service, and he'd been _crying_, and how fucked up was that, Jack crying.

"Cassandra Fraiser?" Teal'c tries the doorknob, and he's got to know it's not locked, but he still doesn't come in, waiting for her to reply.

She wonders, staring at the ceiling, what he'd do if she'd killed herself in here, hanged herself with her own bedsheets or something equally cliché. Would he just stand out there forever, waiting for a reply that would never come?

Her eyes track to the video camera in the corner, the one Sam promised her wouldn't be turned on as long as she was on base, as long as she wanted to be alone. She's seen the little red light go on a couple times, now, when she's being too quiet or Sam's just doing her mother-hen thing.

_Fuck it,_ Cassie thinks, and says, "Well, get in here, then."

Teal'c opens the door, and she catches a glimmer of relief in his eyes before he folds it away behind a faint smile and sits on the only chair in the room, next to her bed. She's steeling herself for an expression of pity, but all that's on his face is a calm, relentless understanding, like if he were in the same situation, he'd be the one wearing the same standard-issue BDUs for almost a week, the one yelling at Sam for no real reason, the one with messed-up hair and no appetite, the one hiding in a little room on a base full of people, the one hoping so hard that if everyone else forgets, maybe, just maybe-

It's a stupid thought, anyway, because he's got that warrior crap going, the same stuff that makes Jack and Sam and Daniel live day after day with the terrible shit they've seen and done. She thinks maybe someone should synthesize that for mass production – Eau de Bravery – and then she thinks that maybe her mom would be the best one to do that, and she's crying again, even though she's pretty sure she must have run out of tears days ago.

Teal'c doesn't say anything, just hangs onto her when she grabs for him, and after a while he shifts and she thinks he's going to say something about her mom, something that'll just keep making Janet Fraiser into something she wasn't, into some kind of superhuman saint, not the kind of person who argued with her stupid teenage daughter about stupid teenage things. Not the kind of person she was.

Instead, he says, "No one should have to endure what you have," and it's true, it's so damned _true_, and sometimes she feels like she's more angry than sad, like if she could just yell loud enough and hit something hard enough, she could get over this.

"It's not the same," she says, into his shoulder, and her voice is pathetic and high-pitched, like she's a little kid again. "It's not the same. The first time, I lost everything. Everyone I ever met. Everyone. Losing one person can't even compare to that."

"I believe you are mistaken," Teal'c says, which Cassie is pretty sure is his way of saying _I believe you're being a moron._ He moves back a bit, hands on her shoulders, looking her squarely in the eyes. "You have grown up with Janet Fraiser. She has been the most important person in your life for many years. That is by no means insignificant in comparison to anything. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," she says, because she thinks maybe she does, because he's got such a way of making people feel like if he believes something strongly enough, they should, too. And the memory's faded over the years, but for a second she feels like she's seeing him for the first time, back when Sam and Jack and Daniel were still scary figures hidden by the environmental suits, when his was the only face she could see, infinitely gentle. _"It is okay,"_ he'd said, and she'd believed him.

He takes his hands away, or maybe she shrugs them off, and she scrubs a sleeve across her face, for all the good it does. Wordlessly, with an air of solemn ceremony, he hands her a little packet of Kleenex, and she laughs a bit, for the first time.

"You cannot remain in this room indefinitely," he says.

She hunches her shoulders. "Look, Teal'c, everyone's waiting for me to go out and rejoin the human race. What if I don't feel like it?"

There's a long pause. He quirks an eyebrow. "I was merely about to inform you that we have need of the VIP quarters for a visiting Tok'ra delegate next week."

"Oh," she says.

They're quiet for a long time, and Cassie toys with the idea of waiting Teal'c out, then realizes that's probably a stupid plan – he seems content to sit across from her for hours on end, if need be. "So what are you doing here, exactly? Did Sam send you to spy on me?"

"If Major Carter wanted to spy on you, she has had ample opportunity," he says, with a glance at the video camera. "Daniel Jackson and O'Neill are also concerned, but they were not instrumental in my visit." His expression doesn't waver, but there's something in the set of his shoulders that changes, like he's letting go of a heavy burden. "In fact, I am not entirely certain why I have sought you out now. It has been my experience that the grieving process cannot be accelerated."

Cassie's swung wildly between loving and hating that phrase – grieving process – because sometimes it seems so cold and clinical that it can't possibly describe what's been happening to her, but sometimes it seems like that distance, that scientific perspective, helps make things better, like it's an official diagnosis, like the grieving process is something people recover from, just a bunch of forms you have to fill out to get through it.

It takes her a while to actually clue in to what Teal'c's saying. "You don't know why you're here?"

Again, she's not sure she could pinpoint exactly how his expression has changed, but he seems a little less sure of himself, a little more uncomfortable. "My people have a very different concept of life and death and mourning than the Tau'ri. Janet Fraiser died as a warrior and a doctor, saving a life, and I feel that she should be celebrated for that. And yet I also feel that I should attempt to offer comfort to you, however impossible that may be."

Cassie feels herself smiling a bit at that. "Sounds like you've been hanging around Earth too long."

"Indeed."

She takes a deep breath, trying to get past the thick feeling of tears at the back of her throat. "And I do appreciate it," she says. "I mean, I get what you're trying to do, Teal'c. And I also appreciate that you're not just in here trying to tell me how great Mom was."

Teal'c raises an eyebrow. "I would imagine that you are most qualified to make that assessment," he says, and she almost smiles again. "However, I believe I understand the reasoning behind that approach. Many of the people on the base have been acquainted with a version of Janet Fraiser that you rarely encountered – the Janet Fraiser who was a doctor, and a major in the United States Air Force. I believe that many of the ones who have tried to tell you stories about your mother feel that they can give you part of the Janet Fraiser they knew."

Cassie's quiet for a few seconds, turning that over and over in her mind. Maybe it's more than a few seconds; over the last few days, she's become very good at taking her time, at seeing things from all angles, because puzzling over some little problem means not having to think about anything else for a while. "Yeah," she says, finally. "That makes sense, I guess."

He reaches into one of his pockets – she notices for the first time that he's still wearing a vest, and she wonders if he's just arrived from offworld – and extracts a blue jello cup and a plastic spoon. "I understand that you have refused two meals today."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Jello? That stuff's got the nutritional value of, like, a shoe."

"Dessert," he says, and reaches into another pocket for a plastic-wrapped tuna sandwich that's seen better days.

It's the best thing she's ever tasted, and she eats it in about thirty seconds flat.

"So what now?" she says, when the silence stretches on a bit too long and she's starting to realize that, whether he'll admit it or not, Teal'c's had a very obvious reason for coming here – after all, if you can lead a rebellion against godlike beings, convincing one eighteen-year-old kid to start living again's a piece of cake.

"SG-1 is formally issuing an invitation for you to join us for a more substantial dinner at O'Malley's this evening."

Cassie stares at him. "Uh, fine, but that's not exactly what I meant. I mean, what happens next?"

Teal'c cocks his head to one side. "I believe dessert will be served. Something considerably more elaborate than jello, according to O'Neill."

"Teal'c."

"What happens after dessert is entirely your decision," he says, calmly, like he's stating a fact. "You may choose to remain here – I am certain that General Hammond will find a new room for you to stay on base. You are also permitted to return to your old house at any time, as I believe all expenses have been paid for the coming months, and Major Carter has volunteered to assist you in every way possible. Eventually, you may leave Colorado Springs and attend college as you had planned."

"Right," says Cassie, and her breathing's starting to come faster, because God, this is it, she's really alone this time, and she's a grown-up so there won't be any Janet to take her under her wing, and they're all expecting her to move on, to keep going by herself. "I think I'm not so big on plans anymore."

She's not sure he's pleased with that answer, but he hides it well, and even executes one of his elaborate little head-nods when she tells him to scram so she can get into the kind of clothes people wear in public.

Dinner's a bit hellish – they're all pale and tired and don't have a clue what to talk about – but she's starting to feel like it's a step in the right direction, like she needs to understand that she's just lost a degree of connection with these people, like she's moving, starting whatever the hell her own life is going to become.

And when Jack starts telling a story about the evolution of Janet's bedside manner over the years, as measured in the rationing of jello, Cassie meets Teal'c's eyes across the table and smiles.

* * *

V.

"I try to tell stories about her, sometimes," Cassie says, not really expecting a reply, but Sam says, "Yeah, me too," and pulls her into a one-armed hug. They're both bundled up to within an inch of their lives, sitting on a blanket under a perfect canopy of stars, and for a while Cassie just watches her breath fog in the air, listens to the wind. This is usually a busy spot, with its perfect view of the valley and the lights of Boulder below, but the early snow's taken care of the weekend warriors, and she's pretty sure she and Sam are the only ones crazy enough to go for a hike and a picnic this late at night, anyway.

They ran out of things to talk about a while ago – Cassie countered every one of Sam's questions about her coursework with questions about Area 51, which killed the conversation pretty quickly – but that's okay, because they've done a lot of their best communication without saying a word, and it seems a bit like the mountain's the one doing the talking, anyway, all whistling wind and crackling branches and the heavy stillness of new snow.

She feels Sam shift, and realizes they're still leaning on each other. "Cass? Want to head back?"

"Nah." Cassie straightens up, gives an exaggerated yawn. "I'm good. It's quiet up here. I don't seem to get a lot of quiet lately."

Sam laughs. "Me too," she says, and Cassie wonders how many planets she's visited where the nights stretched out like this, quiet and open and waiting, and whether those places seemed more or less alien because of it.

"Do you-" Cassie starts, and then pauses, because it's not like she and Sam have exactly been keeping up their biweekly chess games over the past year, and it's starting to feel a bit like she's looking for an old friend in a stranger's face. But Sam's glancing over at her, calm and still smiling a little in the weird half-light of the moon, and Cassie presses on. "Do you ever feel like you'll go crazy if you don't tell all your stories? I mean, you've seen so much, and there's nobody you can really talk to."

Sam makes a show of thinking it over. "I guess you could probably argue that I went crazy a long time ago."

Cassie elbows her. "Come on. I'm serious. It's like that with stories about Mom – I've got all these images of her that I don't want to lose, and I guess I feel like if I tell someone, that'll make them last longer. I just don't want to forget," she says, and doesn't say, _like I did before_.

Sam seems to hear the unspoken words anyway; her face clouds for a moment, then she leans back to grab her pack, and pulls out a thermos and two cups. "Hot chocolate?"

"Sure." Cassie watches as Sam pours the drinks, watches the steam rise up from the cups, feels the warmth right down to her toes before she even takes her first sip. They're quiet for a while, and she feels her eyelids drooping again.

"You're not going to forget Janet," Sam says, eventually, in a low voice. "Don't ever worry about that."

"I don't remember my mom's face," Cassie blurts, and feels her face flush with embarrassment at the outburst. "My first mom, I mean. On the planet. Hanka, Toronto, whatever. I tried to hang onto that for as long as I could, but it was like I was trying to remember a list of features more than the actual face, and one day I just woke up and there was nothing."

"You were a kid, Cass," says Sam, as if that explains everything. "It was a traumatic time for you. Memories fade. And you know what? Faces aren't everything. I bet you can remember exactly the way she smelled when she hugged you."

And, just like that, Cassie's right there again, feeling the warmth of the kitchen stove, breathing a whiff of her dad's baking with all the spices Earth's never had to put a name to, and warm arms are around her, slender and strong, and there's the faint smell of the ink her mom used to write with, the stuff that was so pungent that she always argued it couldn't help but add character to any letter-

She's crying, but it's not the sort of crying that she's been doing so much lately, the harsh sobs that come with remembering solemn generals and folded flags and years fading away to dust. This feels good, cathartic, and Sam's arm around her shoulders reminds her that she's lost a mother and a father, too.

"I don't want to lose that," Cassie says, and her voice is so small that she barely recognizes it. "I don't want to lose her again, Sam, not this way."

"Oh, Cass," Sam says, and there's a weird little hitch in her voice, like she's going to start crying, too. "You're not going to lose her. You'll always have her with you. The memories will be there when you need them. It's trying to reach for them all the time that's hurting you."

And that does it; Cassie turns and pulls Sam into a hug that nearly spills both mugs of hot chocolate, and they stay like that for a long time, quiet and still, even against the muted landscape of the snow. After a while, Sam pats Cassie's back, a little awkwardly, and they both laugh a bit, because it's not like Sam's ever been all that good at this sort of thing.

"I'm sorry," Cassie says, and the words are coming easier, now. "God, Sam, I was such a brat to you, and then you came all this way because I yelled at you over the phone-"

Sam's reaching for the thermos again, and she's swiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "It's fine, Cassie. Don't worry about it. We're family, right?"

"I know you miss her, too," says Cassie, watching the whorls of steam again when Sam opens the thermos. "I mean, you knew her longer than I did. This must be killing you."

"It hurt a lot," says Sam, softly. "Especially when there was the memorial service and I didn't know what to say, couldn't think of anything that could do her justice. And I- I guess I felt kind of guilty, because I was so relieved that the Colonel was okay. I don't want to imagine what would have happened if we'd lost them both that day."

"Yeah," says Cassie, but she's almost holding her breath, because this is Sam opening up, really opening up, and she can't remember the last time she saw that, can't remember the last time they've been this close.

"Daniel saw her- saw her go down," says Sam, slowly, like she wants to make sure she's got all the words right, and Cassie wonders how long she's been wanting to say this. "And later, he told me a story about a photographer, about someone who realized the picture he'd accidentally taken wasn't just of someone dying, it was of someone saving his life. And I think that helped a bit, because-" She leans back, and Cassie follows her gaze up to the stars. "-because I don't know. Because maybe knowing she saved so many lives makes the whole cosmic balance thing work out. Because it's what she would have wanted. Because it's a way to keep moving forward."

And she turns, meets Cassie's eyes with an expression that's firm, determined. "I miss her, Cass. I miss her so much. But she'd want us to keep going, and you know that. You can't tell me you're happy just hanging around here, failing half your exams on purpose and being generally miserable."

Cassie finds herself smiling a bit. "And you can't tell me you're happy just working at Area 51, not even getting to step through a Stargate every few days as a reward for having to deal with people dumber than you all the time."

Sam rolls her eyes. "You really are a bit of a brat, you know that?"

Smiling sweetly, Cassie grabs the thermos and pours herself the last of the hot chocolate. "You know you love me anyway."

"Hah," says Sam, but she gives Cassie another one-armed hug before flopping down on the blanket, staring up at the sky. "You worried me a bit, Cass. I just know you're going to do such amazing things – I've always known it – and it really scared me to see you back off from that."

Cassie looks down at her for a bit, and in the darkness she can't see any of the faint lines that time's put on Sam's face, none of the signs of age that've cropped up in the years since they first met. "I'm sorry," she says again. "I think I needed to work through some stuff. I think I still need to work through it."

And Sam's still looking at the sky, but her sudden smile is radiant, confident, glowing. "Your journey's just beginning," she says, and Cassie believes her.

They lie like that for hours, under the stars, while Sam points out constellations and they both try to tie together bits and pieces of the stories Daniel's told about their origins, until Cassie's pretty sure they've managed to completely butcher every single bit of mythology they've ever half-listened to, and then they're quiet for a long while, just thinking about what came before and what comes next.

"Tell me a story, Sam," Cassie says, and Sam raises a hand like she's reaching for the stars themselves, and paints a story across the sky, warm and shining and real, taking something from the flicker of constellations, from the perfect mathematics of distant galaxies, from the poetry of the blanket of space.

And, much later, as they're watching the sun rise, Cassie throws the first handful of snow, starting a battle that ends with both of them breathless with laughter, giddy with the high altitude and with the lack of sleep and with the future, stretching on forever.

When they're done laughing, when they're done packing up all their stuff and complaining half-heartedly about the cold and preparing for the long trek back home, Cassie steps to the edge of the lookout point, grinning into the rising sun. "You know what I think?"

"What's that?" Sam comes to stand beside her, and Cassie feels a bit like there are others standing with them, too, the people who've stood with her through all the best parts of life, the people who've stood with her through the worst parts, and the people she'll stand with, one day, when they need her most.

Cassie looks out into her future, and laughs. "It's going to be a beautiful day."


End file.
